


the possibility of more

by captaincastello



Series: the possibility of us [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drabble, First Dates, Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 13:19:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15842103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincastello/pseuds/captaincastello
Summary: "The tall one looks cute"—this one James knows and completely agrees with. This one also seems to block out all the rest as the adoration and admiration in the simple compliment settles like a thick cloud in his chest. A childish part of him that doesn’t want to share feels a little territorial all at once, but he keeps his face neutral, because of course he knows, as should anyone with eyes would know.





	the possibility of more

**Author's Note:**

> this is a direct follow up of [ the possibility of us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15662649), and is set before [ just before another date night](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15713088), but it can also be read as a stand-alone work :)

By the time they had finished dinner at Vrepitsal’s, sunset had drowned the bustling town in soft shadows. Night had come in her black satin cloak, bringing with her the stars to mourn the death of the sun. And yet, as most things do once the light starts to slip behind mountains to allow passage for the dark, everything seems to come even more alive.

The street and alleys fill up with multitudes of local and foreign tourists eager to have a taste of a fun intergalactic cruise in what is possibly Earth’s first hamlet of extra-terrestrial trade and commerce. Multicolored lights bloom from inside various establishments such as restaurants and food stalls boasting undecipherable menus, shops selling curious things ranging from glowing space rocks to fluffy multilayered tentacle socks, boutiques offering various services that are both human- and alien-friendly. All around is an orchestra of owners declaring their products and prices, customers haggling for discounts, and the occasional shrieks of surprise or awe from the human part of the crowd.

James imagines the town must look like a glowing bed of embers from the rooftop where Ryan would direct his silent yet steady gaze upon at twilight. More than the view itself, he’d rather watch the soft lights flicker and melt in the rich honey-gold of Ryan’s eyes, but that’s a secret he harbors for now (but maybe he’ll have the courage to say it out loud someday).

Ryan walks beside him at a polite distance that he suspects could be lessened had he requested it, or if his arms would feel less like lead and more of what a boyfriend’s arm should be like, probably.

James hears his inner voice release a deep sigh. Dating a long-time friend and squad member suddenly feels tricky; shouldn’t there be a manual for this, like _A Procedural Guide for Squad-Members-to-Friends-to-Lovers Relationships_ that he could review? He takes a furtive look around in case one of these shops has something of the sort.

Something pulls him out of his reverie and internal arm-function debate.

It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that his senses have been sharpened enough that when an airline flight attendant asks him to leave all sharp objects behind before boarding a plane, he’d be forced to leave his observation skills, because in the growing hubbub of the night market, he catches the words _MFE pilots_ amid a few giggles.

“They’re heroes!”

“My cousin’s friend trained with them!”

“The tall one looks cute!”

 _The tall one looks cute_ —this one James knows and completely agrees with. This one also seems to block out all the rest as the adoration and admiration in the simple compliment settles like a thick cloud in his chest. A childish part of him that doesn’t want to share feels a little territorial all at once, but he keeps his face neutral, because of course he knows, as should anyone with eyes would know.

Ryan Kinkade is an amalgamation of fine contours defined by well-toned muscles and an excellent bone structure, topped with a crown of soft curls and a pair of eyes that even the sky became so jealous of, it put up a million stars to outshine them and it still lost the competition. His smile is an elusive blue moon perched on a pair of full lips, his jaw is the handiwork of a master artisan’s calloused hands wielding only the best sculpting tools.

In fact, James feels kind of childishly victorious thinking how he knows about the little, less noticed things that make Ryan Kinkade, well, cute. He thinks it’s in the way he sneaks an extra sugar cube into his coffee when he thinks no one has caught him drop in three the first time. It’s how he absently fidgets with his earlobe while he’s completely immersed in reading a novel. It’s the way he writes his little ‘F’s and big ‘G’s a little different from everybody else, and it’s also in the way his eyebrows furrow in the middle as he takes a contemplative pause before asking someone something important, like if they maybe want to go on a date with him.

So, yeah, cute may be an understatement, but that is one way to describe him.

James hears Ryan quietly dislodging a grunt before inching a little closer to him, pressing lightly against his arm as they continue to walk. The sight-seeing crowd is starting to swell in the narrow streets, people moving in contrasting currents and branching out into smaller streams lining up into different establishments.

James steals a glance up at Ryan. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, his jaw clenched.

“Something wrong?”

Ryan returns his glance before his look hardens again and he scouts their periphery with his eyes one last time. The multiple sources of the barely contained giggles have walked past and were easily swallowed up by the lively chatter of tourists milling by.

Ryan’s eyebrows are furrowed, as if he’s thinking about what to say and how.

“… Someone just called you cute.”

James has to resist the urge to laugh, because (1) Ryan Kinkade, bearer of only at least four known emotions, seems to be _sulking_ , and (2) he’s got it all wrong because he’s pretty sure the subject of the description was clearly directed at _‘the taller one’_. Also he feels all sorts of relieved thinking that he’s not the only one feeling selfish after all.

“I think they were talking about you,” James says, the thick cloud in his chest dissipating into something lighter, warmer.

 “I wasn’t the one smiling just now.”

 “Oh, was I?” _Only because I was thinking about you_. This one also goes to the list of things he’ll try to say out loud someday. Also, he _does_ feel his face now—it’s taking some effort even just trying to frown. Maybe he has been smiling, and someone pointed it out.

Ryan looks at him, and James feels his heartbeat rising to a timbre loud enough to rattle his bones. Suddenly he’s more aware of the sheer volume congesting the streets, more aware of the crowd pressing them closer together, arm brushing against arm, fingers grazing each other.

His voice comes out like a thief’s measured footfalls after dark, but James hears it clearly as everything else fades into distant white noise, an irrelevant hum of the world buzzing outside their tiny atmosphere.

“Well, they weren’t wrong,” he says, and his gaze drops for a second, but the temperature between them rises, painting his cheeks a burning pink. James doesn’t think Ryan’s voice can get any softer, but it does. “About you being cute.”

Oh, _five_ known emotions. And counting. Is he the one doing this to Ryan? Taking him apart, layer by layer, exposing little known things for his eyes and ears alone, setting fireworks in his stomach and melting his knees to jelly? Fair enough, James thinks, because Ryan is also definitely doing things to him.

Emboldened, James quickly finds courage as their pinky fingers finally find purchase and lace together, like twin hooks. He latches onto that tiny pressure like a lifeline, until Ryan takes his entire hand, takes all the spaces between his fingers. A while ago he felt so nervous, yet who knew it could be this easy.

“They were pretty right about you, too,” James says, holding onto Ryan, holding his gaze. “About you being tall.”

Ryan chuckles, and the fluorescent lights dance like a pool of galaxies in his eyes.

“Yeah, but too bad,” he replies, the corners of his lips curl up ever so slightly. “I already belong to someone.”

Something passes between them, or many things at once: a heartbeat, a long-held breath freed at last, an unspoken commitment, an exchange of promises.

 The two of them together, they are something more.

James likes the sound of that.

“Me too,” he says after what feels like ages. He squeezes Ryan’s hand and feels him squeeze right back. “But just for the record, I found you cute first.”

Much later, when he’s alone in his quarters, slumber would find it difficult to row James away through a lake of dreams as he grapples with the image of Ryan Kinkade melting into a flustered incoherent mess.


End file.
